


Wallet

by seazu



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-08-08 22:54:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7776862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seazu/pseuds/seazu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Richard Brook finds a mysterious wallet on his way home, he sets about finding out what he can about the owner, Severin Moran, while trying to figure out how to get it back to him. And if he falls a little bit in love in the process, whats the harm?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wallet

 

> **One**

There's a very special sweet spot between that buzz of excitement and complete exhaustion from working hard all day and Richard Brook found himself right in the middle of it as he was leaving the theatre. His mind was alert, reliving his favourite moments from the day like he was already in bed dreaming; but his body basically dragged, as if every step brought him closer to the pavement. He could have called a cab, of course, but it was late and dark, so he didn't want to stand waiting for too long, and there was a reason he got a flat so close to the local theatres. The walk would be fine. He assured himself that the fresh air would clear his mind and the last bit of exercise would have him more than ready for bed.

At least the streets he walked down were well lit -- albeit fairly derelict -- and he passed between the ugly glow of orange lamplight to orange lamplight, keeping his eyes on the shadows between for any sign of movement. His imagination did love to play tricks on him when he was alone in the evenings. Or alone at any time really. Which was more often than he cared to admit.

Random bits of throwaway wouldn't normally catch his eye, it was only because he had so little else to focus on that the square of darker black against the dark black of the ground grabbed his attention. His very considerate imagination told him it was a bomb. Which was fantastic. But he knew how silly that was, and as if to prove himself paranoid, he slowed and approached it. And to further prove himself wrong, he picked it up. Gently. And then opened it to confirm that: yes, it was in fact, a wallet.

And look, Richard considered himself a good person. He was not quitting his job to join a charity and live in some third world country, okay. But he had always done what he could. He was the guy you saw paying a bit extra for the Big Issue he didn't need (multiple times), or bringing a hot drink or a sandwich to the homeless lady that lived outside of Tesco. He donated to charity, he volunteered at shelters (both human and animal). If he had time or money to spare, he wouldn't think twice. Because he had been there, he had been through the hard times and he knew what a little compassion meant. Same way he knew whoever owned that wallet must have been very worried and would probably be glad to see it returned.

He slid it into his back pocket and staggered the rest of the way home, barely made it up the stairs never mind the short distance to his bedroom before he collapsed and slept into his day off.

* * *

  


 

> **Two**

Richard could not for the life of him figure out how he managed to get undressed last night, but he didn't do a great job of it. Clothes were strewn over the end of his bed and he was bundled on top of it. He almost felt hungover, and honestly, where was the fun in that without having the pleasure of drinking first?

He groaned and pretty much fell onto his feet before pulling himself into a standing position (with some amount of effort). Richie was by no means a morning person. Especially not when his legs ached just for being stood on and his eyes were bone dry. He was just out of bed, but he felt so tired already.

On his way to the bathroom he caught sight of himself in the mirror and basically shuddered, leaning closer, pale fingers pulled at the bags under his eyes as he scrutinised his appearance, big eyes droopy and bloodshot, dark hair just a tousled mess, he tilted his chin up and just hoped that wasn't the beginning of a new spot he spied. For fear of spending all day agonising over his reflection he tore himself away to pee and brush his teeth before returning to tidy away his clothes and get dressed into something at least fit for lazing around the flat.

There was absolutely no noise of a warning before he felt a soft pressure against the backs of his legs, and he jumped before turning to see two massive eyes staring back, “Jesus, Pez! You scared the life out of me!”

The cat stared back unaffected and Richie sighed, a smile returning before he let go of the jeans he was folding to reach down and pet Pez’ neck. It's not often he was allowed to show him affection, so he took any chance he got.

This, _of course_ , was spoiled by the sudden loud thud of something hitting the floor in front of them, sending Pez backflipping away (Richie almost somersaulting with him), hand pressed against his chest as he muttered, “my heart can't take this,” mostly to himself. Partially to Pez, who looked completely appalled before he disappeared into the next room.

He took a few moments to compose himself before bending down to investigate and frowned at the unfamiliar object before he remembered the walk home.

Previous task forgotten he sat at the end of his bed again, curiosity renewed once he had daylight to examine it properly. Very worn, dark leather, edges rubbed away and cracked and a little stained by nothing particularly suspicious. It was thick and heavy in his hands, chock full of… somethings. He was a little apprehensive about popping the button and letting it open, somehow afraid of what he might find. But mostly excited. It was like the beginning of some fantastic mystery novel. His mind already leaping to possibilities. Him finding a piece of missing evidence which would free a wrongfully accused man from jail! Or somehow finding something that leads to a murder victim or… well, there's a reason he acts and doesn't write, but it was very exciting either way.

Richie stared at it for another long moment before he decided this was absolutely too exciting to be done in his underwear at the edge of his bed. So he set it down again and got dressed into a v-neck and some pyjama bottoms, made himself some tea, and got settled on the living room floor, ready to explore his mystery man's wallet.

\--

Pez had perched himself on top of the bookcase overlooking his Human, who had been hunched over on the ground for quite some time now, working on a jigsaw of some kind. He eyed it suspiciously, tail swishing side to side as he frowned down, silently showing his displeasure of the whole spectacle.

Richie was more or less unaware of the dark cloud of disapproval above him, he had been entirely quite focused on gently removing and laying out the contents of the Stranger’s wallet on his floor, in some kind of system which had zero logic behind it, so he couldn't _exactly_ call it a system, but it didn't stop him, either. He just didn't think about it as he stared down at his big art attack.

Cards were neatly arranged side by side, receipts next, some expired IDs, photos and other misc objects near the bottom. His eyes were bright with interest as he glanced over everything looking at this cubist version of a man.

* * *

 

 

> **Three**

Richard examined each item with the same reverence he would give a tiny baby bird, or maybe an ancient fossil. Like he was on a dig, excavating relics from the past and trying to figure out how the other people lived. He held each piece delicately, sometimes lifting it up to catch the light, delicate fingers running along the raised up words on his bank card, to feel the name printed on it, but long worn away from use. Signature scribbled on the back, but quite faded, matching the one on his IDs. They all told him the name of the owner: Severin Moran.

He wagered that information alone would make him easy to find. If he was listed in the telephone directory or on Facebook or anything like that, there couldn’t be many duplicates with a name like his. But by that point, Richie was heavily invested in the mystery of it all. He already had everything sitting out and looking at him, and some part of him just wanted to immerse himself and learn everything he could from the information in front of him. Chances are, he would hand this wallet in somewhere and never actually get to meet Severin Moran, and that would be that. He imagined that maybe some day he might see him in a crowd or in a queue or maybe even at one of his performances, and think there! That’s him! That’s the guy I helped!

And, look, it was not like Richard would ever have out-rightly considered himself shallow, he wasn't really. But an attractive shell was at least aesthetically pleasing to most people. He may never love the hot guys he passed on the street or saw on TV, but he could certainly lust over them. He knew he could absolutely fall for any man with the right personality, but Severin was someone he could definitely lust over. Even the awful little passport-size photos printed on his ID -- an expired Oxford University student ID, but also (more interestingly), a British Army ID. They matched one of the photos he picked up, squinting at it with a deep frown as he scrutinized the two men featured in it. Both similar in build and height, one beaming, the other looking quite nervous. The excited man had decidedly bleached his hair blonde (and, Richie thought, had done a very professional job of it, _it looked so natural!_ ) and the blueness of his eyes were more obvious, meanwhile the man next to him was hiding behind a pair of glasses and had a lovely ruffle of brown hair, and the tiniest hint of stubble. His shoulders were slightly hunched as if he hated the idea of being photographed, but comparing it to the ID photos, Richard could tell that the man with glasses was Severin. So he must care a great deal for the man next to him.

The reason for Richard’s frown and scrutiny was because he was almost certain the two were twins, but the extreme differences in composure and personality, along with the differences in appearance made him question it. He’d put a pin in that one for now and decided that at the very least, it was his brother. And judging by the uniforms and youth, it seemed they took it around the time they started working for the Army.

“So, they joined together, maybe?” he mused aloud, looking for Pez to agree with him, but the cat had disappeared again, so he sighed and looked back down, “couldn’t have been easy for their parents,” he continued, to no one, then. “Unless maybe it was their idea,” _then maybe that would explain why Severin looked so uncomfortable. Maybe not just the photo, maybe he was nervous about being deployed._

He shook his head to dislodge the thought, and despite being quite drawn to the tragic backstory, he already felt quite protective of Severin. He would rather have thought that maybe he was just nervous about it all, like anyone would be, and leave it at that.

Between the Waterstones gift cards and the library card, he thought it was safe to assume Severin was a bit of a big reader. Maybe that it tied into whatever he studied at University -- maybe English? That might have been a bit of a leap, though. Richard also wanted to assume that maybe because he had both an Organ Donor’s Card and a Red Cross Card for his First Aid training, he was probably quite a selfless and considerate a person -- though this could just be more baseless speculation.

He could as likely say that because Severin had a bus pass and an Oyster card, that he travelled a lot, and had a lot of friends and a busy life, but his passes didn’t seem all that worn out. He didn’t have a driver’s licence so it seemed like he had them more out of necessity, or for ‘just in case’ moments. From the receipts he had, he seemed to mostly go to the same few places. Like, Tesco for his weekly shop, which matched the Grocery list which was folded neatly into the section for his cash like it had been folded a hundred times, judging by how worn the word in the middle of the crease was, and the way the edges had dog-eared, the few extras added to the bottom which were always added with a different pen or different levels of concentration or speed. Richie traced his fingers delicately over the words like he could feel him writing them, and then set the list back down rather abruptly, because that was probably quite weird.

He had other receipts which confirmed he was a creature of habit, like one for a small cafe he didn't recognise the name of, for which he had a few different crumpled receipts, always for around the same time and on the same days, for the same things, usually. A cup of spearmint tea and ‘baked goods’, as it read. It made him smile briefly, maybe because Severin’s usual drink was the same as his. And then he wondered fleetingly if Severin had a crush on someone who worked there, and _then_ he scolded himself for the hope that flared in his chest that maybe this sweet, considerate, hot ex-army, well-educated man might be single. Oh yeah, and at least a little bit into guys. That wasn’t asking for too much, was it?

He ignored that thought too, in favour of looking at what else was left. The money didn’t mean much, just some change, but no notes. It made him wonder if it had been taken, if someone had found the wallet and stolen his notes and maybe a credit card and left the rest. Clearly he was getting too protective of his mystery man, because it made him angry at the thought. Maybe just angry on Severin’s behalf and Severin could get angry later. Hopefully not at him. He’d hate for him to think he’d emptied cash out of the wallet and then left it off at Waterstones or the cafe or something for him to find after it had stopped being useful. He decided he might leave a note in it explaining that.

The other things like the stamps (first class, book of twelve, seven missing), and the lottery ticket (not a winner, he checked) he set aside, and examined instead the little slip of paper he found rolled up near the bottom. Smiling as he unfurled it, to discover it was in fact an old saying from a fortune cookie. Surely that must say something about him as a man if nothing else:

 

> _Today it's up to you to create the peacefulness you long for._

Maybe Severin was of a nervous disposition after all… Examining the little sheet of tablets he had plucked from the wallet earlier it seemed likely he had quite a lot of anxiety (okay, so he googled the name, that’s allowed). That was quite sad to see, maybe a symptom of being at war. Richie couldn’t imagine it was easy, and it would probably explain all of the routines in his life. Further confirmed by the wad of old cinema tickets, that seemed to all be from around the same times, on Tuesdays every other week, probably just whatever film happened to be on, because they ranged from superhero films to tragic love stories. The most surprising and exciting thing he found was a stub for a theatre performance. And for some reason it delighted Richard to think that maybe he was a theatre geek too, maybe he had more stubs like this one at home. Maybe he’d even been to one of Richard’s performances before. How strange would that be? In a city this size.

Finally, he held up the last thing from his wallet, which was flaccid on the ground now that everything had been removed  from it. Stretched out and Richie thought it maybe even looked a little… relieved, to be free from the burden of strain put on it. He smiled to himself and looked back to the photo he was holding, a beautiful woman dressed for a long time ago, with those massive lovely blue eyes and a smile he couldn’t help but return, being climbed over by two twin boys. That confirmed it for him, when they both looked delighted, with scruffs of brown hair and those matching eyes. Before Severin had his glasses, probably from all the reading he must have done when he got older. Richie smiled at it, and felt his heart beat a little faster. He couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to meet him, to feel his warmth and embrace him. He wondered what he smelled like, what his voice sounded like, if his hair was as thick and soft as it looked.

His smile faded as he started to return everything to the wallet as best he could remember, knowing that that couldn’t happen. He would write his note and slip it in, he would leave it off at the cafe he always went to (maybe give him the excuse to talk to one of the employees, potentially the one he maybe had a crush on), and he would move on. He promised himself there and then he would show enough restraint to not try and find him on Facebook. He told himself, this was enough.

* * *

 

 

> **Four**

It would have made sense for him to just drop the wallet off on the way to rehearsal in the evening, but he thought it would be better if he left it in the cafe in the morning, so Severin could get it as soon as he went in. Okay, no, let’s be honest he agreed not to Facebook him, he didn’t agree not to wait in the cafe to watch him come in. The man was like clockwork there, judging by the time-stamps on the receipts. And okay, he could have picked the cinema or the library or the bookstore, he really could have. But Richard was nothing if not occasionally just a little bit selfish. He just wanted to see him in person, just for a second. Just wanted to see his face, and the relief and happiness. He didn’t always get to see that when he did something good, and he needed things like that sometimes.

Richard didn’t exactly dress _up_ but he put a little extra effort into his appearance that morning in preparation. He caught a look at his reflection in the tube window and well, he looked pretty okay. Some attempt to tame his hair, but in a very nonchalant way, his favourite shirt paired with some very nicely fitted jeans -- check! And what he considered to be ‘a very fetching jacket’. Honestly, this was first date material, he almost hated himself for putting this effort in, just on the off chance Severin might look his way ~~and fall in love~~. But he argued that he should be allowed to look nice whenever he wanted. It was for him. A confidence boost.

 

\--

 

“Hi! What can I get you?”

“Actually, I found this wallet two nights ago, and there were a bunch of receipts from here in it, I was wondering if you maybe know the man who owns it, or could hold onto it in case he comes back?”

“Oh sure, let’s see… Oh! Yeah, we know him, he’s usually in here every week. I’ll hold on to it for him, thanks for bringing it in!”

“No problem at all!”

The cafe was small, fairly quiet, and off the main street. It seemed to Richard to be a little dark or closed off feeling because there were only windows on one side and he somehow associated cafes with being covered in full-length windows for natural light. Obviously key for all screen-play writers, or art students who need to stare at strangers to capture their form enough times to qualify as satisfactory life-drawings.

“Can I get you anything while you’re here?”

“Uh, no that’s--” he was disappointed as he glanced around, and then down at his watch that there was no Severin to be seen. No hint of him about to come in. He thought he would be here by now, but he’s accustomed to the queues at Starbucks and Costa and Nero, not the empty counter here. He’d factored in the time it takes to order a drink after all. “Actually yeah, can I get a tea, please?”

“Sure!” Their talk dissolved into picking a tea and Richie asking about the shop and mourning not having known about it before now (even though the sentiment is mostly fake as he is an unapologetic Starbucks boy through and through), but he was mostly keeping an eye on the door. It was only then that he saw Severin walk in.

You know that trope in films where time slows down and romantic music starts playing while a soft light shines on a person? Richard loved to giggle at that, maybe it reminded him of that one episode of FRIENDS (you know, the one with Ross and Monica’s cousin?), but honestly he’d swear up and down it happened right then. There was a gentleness to him that Richie hadn’t expected, like a faun tip-toeing through the undergrowth. But he was still so tall (very tall), and broad, hiding a _very_ military body underneath his loose button-down and jeans. His eyes darted around the room, though he didn’t make eye-contact with anyone. He moved quietly, shoulders slumped as much as his army-straight stance would allow. Of course his nerves seemed to fade a little once he got through the door, into the familiarity that his routine must have brought, and he found himself a table across the way to sit at, reaching in his bag to pull out a book.

 

When Richard looked back behind the counter, there was a different employee making his tea, the former having moved to the counter to deal with a new customer. He nodded his head to indicate Severin before saying, “doesn’t he order anything?”

“Who Severin? Oh, he does! He always gets the same thing so we just bring it to him.”

Richie nodded and smiled as he processed that, it must be nice to have somewhere where you’re so well known you don’t have to force communications. You know everyone and you feel secure in that. _Where everybody knows your name, and they’re always glad you came._ “Would it be okay if I paid for his order today, with mine?”

“Oh? Yeah, sure, I’ll ring it up now. Aaaaand here’s _your_ tea.”

“Thank you so much!”

He wasn’t sure why he did it. As he passed her the money and told her to keep the change (like some suave guy from an old film), he theorised it was maybe because he felt bad about the possibility that the wallet might have been emptied of cash before he found it. Wondering who Severin had to rely on to find the money to go about his days and routines until his cards were replaced. Maybe his brother? His mother? Possibly friends, (hopefully not a partner -- _Richie!_ ).

He watched the barista make up Severin’s usual order before he moved it onto his tray, thanking her again before he gingerly approached Severin’s table, wanting to be sure he didn’t surprise him -- keeping in full line of sight and clearing his throat gently to get his attention once he was close enough, then setting the tray on the table so he didn’t drop anything.

 

“I’m sorry, I don’t want to disturb you, it’s just they were making up your tea for you when I was getting mine and I thought I could bring it over to you. I hope you don’t mind!”

“Oh, uh, no no, that’s fine, thank you so much.” Richard was finding it hard to read exactly how Severin was reacting to him being there, over his general look of surprise or panic maybe at having been talked to at all. Which he could understand, since he found most people were cautious any time any stranger pierced their bubble and made contact.

He concentrated instead on moving Severin’s mug and pastry from the tray, and then he hovered for a moment, “would you mind if I joined you? You can absolutely say no, I just thought it might be nice to have some company.”

“Uh, sure, no, go ahead,” he did seem a little blind-sighted, and Richie immediately felt guilty, but he offered him a hand to shake before taking a seat, “I’m Richard by the way, Richie, if you like.”

“Severin,” he returned, taking a firm hold of his hand to shake. A much firmer grip than he expected from someone so mild. It was oddly reassuring. “Nice to meet you, Richie.” It seemed to Richard that the formality provided some kind of structure and comfort for Severin, which eased off some of his tension. Or that’s what it looked like to him anyway.

With that, he felt more comfortable taking the seat opposite him and moving his tea off of the tray to set it across at another table.

 

Severin set his book aside, a little hesitantly. Like not only was he not expecting anyone to join him on his lone island, but he had no idea how to converse or even act normal. His hand remained flat against the cover, pushing it into the table for a moment or two before he slipped it instead around his tea. Richard watched Severin take a quick sip of it and set it back down again quickly, clear that he had burnt his hand a little and possibly also his tongue. Maybe the awkwardness of the situation had driven him to it, but Richie decided to ignore it and spare him any embarrassment he might have felt. He tilted his head instead, to glance at Severin’s mug, “peppermint tea? That’s what I always get, too,” he offered to break the silence.

He nodded, adjusting his glasses slightly, as a way to avoid eye-contact, maybe? “I prefer not to drink anything with too much caffeine,” he said, in explanation.

“The mint is very soothing, too,” kind of like toothpaste, he added in his mind, because thankfully his filter was on today. “Do you come here often?” Richard stopped and pulled a face at himself, “I’m sorry that sounds like a really bad pick-up line,” and even though it was a mistake, he watched Severin’s reaction.

Which was about as closed off as he’d have expected. He just cleared his throat and looked down a little sharply before he said, “I do. I’ve never seen you here before though.”

“No, this is my first time,” okay, that was actually a negative on the filter front, it had gone from him being proud for not saying something too weird, to inadvertently talking in innuendos.

“It’s a very nice place, not many people seem to know about it.”

“That makes it better, no queues, no hustle and bustle, it’s rare to find a place like this in London.”

“Yes,” he agreed, but in a soft, quasi-affectionate tone that brought a smile to Richard’s face in return.

“I’m sorry I interrupted your reading,” Richard said after a pause, indicating the book next to him.

“Oh, it’s fine. I’m always reading, but I’m not always talking to strangers.”

“We’re not strangers, are we? We know eachothers names!”

“I suppose that’s true,” he replied with the hint of a smile.

“You must get through a lot of books.”

“I do, yes. Thankfully my brother knows that I like reading and is horrible at gifts so I have an exorbitant amount of waterstones giftcards,” he managed to maintain the same tiny hint of a smile until he reached the end of his sentence, and cast his eyes downward. “Had,” he corrected, then, quieter.

“Oh, did you spend them all?” He felt awful, lying. But he reasoned that he wanted to maintain the mysterious benefactor type façade. If the person who returned his wallet didn’t have a face or a name, he restored a little faith in the greater good, the genuine kindness of strangers. Plus it would be very weird if he admitted at this point that he actually knew quite a lot about Severin and intended to find out more by talking with him.

“No, I ah… I lost my wallet a few days ago.”

“Oh no, I’m so sorry! I hope it turns up.”

“I doubt it will,” he said, sounding a little tired, like he had had to say that to himself and everyone else he had told a hundred times. Richard would probably have been as despondent in his situation.

A silence fell again, Richard didn’t find it particularly uncomfortable, it was just a side-effect of getting to know someone in his eyes, but he didn’t want it to last too long, knowing that it might have added a little weight to Severin’s shoulders, watching as he made a fresh attempt at his cooler tea. “So, Severin, what do you do?”

“I’m retired, I suppose,” he said, after swallowing. He shifted a little in his seat.

“You don’t really look old enough to be retired, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“I was in the army,” he explained after a beat, “I was discharged, so I live off of an army pension now.” He just about let those words lie, before he distracted from them by turning the question, “what do you do?”

“I’m an actor!” he managed to say it with some degree of pride, he could play coy, but it had taken him a lot of years and a lot of hard work to get to the position he was in and he wasn’t about to shy away from that.

“Oh? That sounds a lot more interesting than what I have to say.”

“I definitely don’t think so.”

“Have you been in anything I--” Severin was cut off suddenly as his eyes rose and he caught sight of one of the Baristas coming behind Richard.

 

“Everything okay for you guys?”

“Yes, it’s lovely, thank you Tony,” his voice was softer with familiarity, Richard noticed as he turned to look at the man he had given Severin’s wallet to.

“I see you found him after all,” Tony said with a smile, setting Severin’s wallet in front of him. Severin frowned at first, but then his eyes widened slightly in amazement, clearly overcome with a rush of relief.

“Where did this come from? Did I leave it here?”

“No! Didn’t he tell you? This guy left it in for you, said he found some receipts for here.”

Richard swallowed and sank into his chair, mostly looking at his tea, too nervous to look up. He could just hear Severin take a moment before he said, “oh, he didn’t mention it I… thank you Tony, let me just--”

“Oh don’t worry, Janet said he paid for your order, too.”

Quiet fell again, and Richard dared to look up, just in time to catch Severin’s frown, hands hovering where he had started to open his wallet, before he forced a smile for Tony. His eyes moved back to Richard and the look on his face was a little close to heartbreaking, somewhere between confused and a little upset. He couldn’t even fake normality then, he pushed his chair back and slid his book back into his bag. “I’m sorry, this is… I have to go. Thank you Tony. Sorry.”

Richard stood with Severin, suddenly a little panicked. He hadn’t expected that reaction at all, it was so sudden and he didn’t even get a chance to explain himself. Even with his cheeks beaming with embarrassment, now, he managed to say, “I’m sorry, Severin, I--” but apparently even just saying his name made Severin flinch.

He watched him walk out of the cafe with absolute dismay. A few long quiet moments after the door closed, Tony turned to Richard and said, “I… thought he’d be happy to get it back.”

* * *

 

 

> **Five**

Richard couldn’t concentrate at work. Normally his job sucked him out of life and let him breathe without thinking about his own real world stresses and strains, but what happened at the cafe just didn’t sit right with him at all. He could just see Severin’s face, and found himself trying to pick apart the features and figure out what was going on in his head. But he couldn’t, of course, because as much as he thought he knew about Severin, it was all surface, and speculation. What had happened was that he ambushed and confused a man who clearly had issues of his own far surpassing Richie’s curiosities, and probably ruined his safe place.

That fact alone meant to Richard that he couldn’t even try to make amends with him, because every other spot he might be, would be somewhere sacred to Severin, and he’d ruin that too. He felt horrible, and he knew he should have just walked away after he left the wallet in. Even if wondering about Severin had haunted him for the rest of his life, it would have been better than this.

He decided to drop it all, then. Even actively avoid the places he knew Severin went. Ambushing him was just not the way to go, and if he could attempt to give him back his routine without fear of it, it was honestly the least he could do.

Which was fine for about a week, and then he got a text out of nowhere, from a number he didn't recognise:

> _Hi, Richard, this is Severin.  
>  _ _I'm sorry I left so abruptly. I found the note you left in my wallet with your number and the lengthy apology (I don't suspect you robbed me, don't worry), and I wasn't sure whether or not to contact you. It was a little weird for me, that you didn't tell me you'd found it, and that you must have known quite a bit about me from looking through it. I'm not used to sharing so much with people so quickly, and to have no control over it…  
>  _ _Anyway, I just wanted to thank you for bringing it back. It was a real weight off._

Richard stared at it. He didn't process it the first time so he read through it again. And again. And then he wondered how long was an appropriate amount of time to wait before replying. And then he replied.

> _Hi Severin, I'm so glad you decided to get in contact. I've felt awful about how things went. I'm so sorry I made it so difficult. You don't have to thank me at all for that!_

 

> _I was hoping to thank you by taking you for dinner… maybe find out a bit more about you, to level the playing field._

 

> _Well, in that case, it seems only fair._

 

> _Good. Just let me know when you're free x_

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to my lovely beta @officialstarsandgutters
> 
> Inspired by the song Wallet by Regina Spektor


End file.
